Right, I finally became absolutely sick of re-editing this stupid thing, so I give to you Chapter 1 of To Kill a Child! After about two years! Woot! And a second chapter is in the works . . . just read, enjoy, and review, please . . . I welcome all critiques on this one . . .

Drainaith seethed inwardly as she sat in her obsidian hall, glaring out at the rows of immobile children frozen by her time spell. Their blood was so pure, free of the lusts and corruption adulthood brought. How she longed to kill just one, feel the pure, sweet blood running down her hands, enjoy the confused eyes as light slowly faded . . . but no. That nuisance of a man who knew what she had done was still alive, trying to warn the people. How unfortunate for him that she'd had her claws in these people long before he'd been born. There was still his bothersome need to free the children's souls, though. True, it wasn't harming her directly, but the fact that he even could free them hinted at a dangerous amount of power.

The longing proved too great, and she gestured, bringing a young boy closer. With a snap of her fingers, he blinked and came to life, starting at his strange surroundings.

"Where am I? Mommy . . . Daddy?" he whimpered, eyes filling with tears brought on by fright and sudden loneliness. Drainaith smiled cruelly, and reached out to slit his throat.

Blood spurted, the warmth of it on her face a welcome feeling. She licked the fresh blood from her lips as the frail body crumpled, the child's last breath a sigh. Gently lifting him, she clasped the corpse to her breast in a chilling parody of a mother's loving embrace, running her hand along the cut and licking crimson from her fingers.

She felt much better.

"Many years ago, a great famine struck throughout the land. Thousands died, or were killed for food by their brethren. Wars for food ravaged the island, and other lands felt their safety would be jeopardized were they to assist us. Fire stormed down from the sky, burning what little fields we had left - it was as though the very gods themselves had forsaken us. This went on for nearly one hundred years. One day, during the worst of the fire storms, the sky suddenly went pure white, and She came to us. Drainaith intervened for us in the Council of the Gods, and was granted permission to give us aid. She traveled freely throughout the land, healing what had been broken by the century of turmoil, and even now stays in her palace in the center of the island, continuing to help and guide us . . . "

Tan'erth snorted softly as he strode past the aged storyteller and his crowd of awestruck adolescents, concentrating on picking his way through the crowded street. Even here, in Erant and Bulim, the port cities, Her hold on the people was strong. This was ridiculous - but at least the traders from other, less backwater countires were finally dispelling the blind faith the island people had in their 'god' (or demon in disguise). He stopped for a moment, listening to a young man's question.

"But why are all of the children missing from the inner island, then? If Drainaith can help us, why won't she?" The youth was inquisitively staring at the old man, waiting for his answer. Tan'erth shifted nervously, hoping that the answer wouldn't contain some bit of religious 'wisdom'. He was sorely disappointed.

"Ah, questioning Her wisdom, lad?" The man sighed, pausing to spit upon the ground. "Don't do it. She's only helping us, by forcing us to solve our own problems."

Tan'erth stepped forward, fairly annoyed. "Missing children is hardly our problem," he said harshly. "I agree with the lad - why won't She help us?" The sarcasm in his voice could hardly have gone unnoticed, but the storyteller ignored the tone.

"It's our problem because we allowed the filth of the other countries to spread throughout our island. They're demons, stealing our youth so they may worship their heathen gods. They've taken the pure ones. She will help us once we've failed - it is the way things work."

"That's utterly ridculous," he responded, forgetting that to argue with these religious maniacs was a sure way to draw unwanted attention. "The traders have brought us much more than was ever provided by that witch who hides in her black palace. Haven't you thought of the possiblity that She is the one killing the children? That She's the one responsible for the bodies everywhere?" Stunned faces greeted his tirade, and he realized that he had far overstepped himself. He'd forgotten that none other than he could see the bodies - their faith blinded them to the horrors they refused to think were possible. He turned and vanished into the streets, praying that the group would remain too stunned to follow him or cry heresy.

Tan'erth fairly ran through the streets, glad that it was market day in Erant. The cobbled streets were filled with traders, fishwives, and others hawking their wares in the autumn sun. He headed for the outskirts, dodging cages of chickens and geese, errant children, and tripping over the occasional cat. Once he reached the quieter inn district, close to the outer road, he slowed to a fast walk.

He slipped into the stables of the small inn where he'd spent the night, picking his way among the tack to Klian's stall.

"Sorry," he muttered as he threw the saddle and bags on the horse, cinching up the straps, "we've got to leave. I ran off the mouth a bit much this morning." He mounted the horse and rode out of Erant, heading for Gramn. With luck, he'd make it there before nightfall - though he'd be pushing it.

Tan'erth rode Klian at a fairly brisk pace, trying to reach Gramn before the sun set. From the look of things, he had a few hours until the city gates closed at dusk. He didn't relish the thought of spending a sleepless night alone, with only lost souls and empty memories to keep him company. He could see it, hovering on the edge of sight, directly in the path of the sun - at this rate he would make it in time. He slowed Klian down though, not wishing to overtire the horse, as he had much more traveling to do. He had plenty of time.

Just before the last edge of the sun disappeared over the horizon, he rode through the gates of Gramn, stopping at a large two story wooden building with stables extending from either side. Gently maneuvering Klian into the open area, he glanced at the sign and saw the body of a young boy hanging listlessly, swaying slowly in the wind. His neck and wrists had been slit and as he watched, began to drip to form a dark, sluggish puddle on the ground before the door.

'A fitting welcome . . .' he thought, dismounting quickly and taking hold of Klian's bridle to lead him to the stables. The door beneath the sign opened, revealing a soft yellow glow and the noise of cheerful drunkards. The innkeeper stepped out and stood directly below the sign, the boy's swinging feet inches above his head.

Tan'erth could only stare, horrified, as blood dripped onto the man's head and ran down his face. He had long since given up telling people about the children; they couldn't see the pathetic bodies, and regarded him as insane. This man would be no different. It was hard, though, to not hand the innkeeper a cloth of some sort as the blood ran into his mouth. Tan'erth gagged involuntarily. Wait a moment, the corpse looked to be a few days old and shouldn't have been bleeding.

'Drainaith messing about with my mind again,' he thought angrily. He didn't realize he was being spoken to until the man said again:

"Lad? Are ye plannin' on spendin' the night staring at the walls of my inn? Come inside, settle yerself by the fire. Ye look as though ye need it, lad. Ye'd do well to do as I say. Strange people roam at night. Foreigners. The bastards," he spat thickly. "Stealing all our children for their demon gods."

Tan'erth blinked once, twice. The corpse had suddenly started crying. It was as though the child knew that no one could help him. It suddenly came to Tan'erth that the child was the innkeeper's son. He was determined all the more now to save the boy before entering his fathers inn. He glanced at the man.

"I can't help but agree, sir. I will attend to my horse, then join you." The man smiled, causing blood to color his teeth crimson. He made a fearsome figure, shadowed but for the glint of the two moons off his blood-stained face.

Suppressing a shudder, Tan'erth led Klian to the side stables and began unsaddling him in the darkness. He heard the heavy slam of the inn door and knew he was alone but for the child. After brushing Klian quickly, he stowed the saddlebags in the corner, locked the stall door, and turned to the sign, avoiding the boy's dangling feet, then began scaling the log wall.

He stepped lightly onto the wooden beam holding the boy and the sign, wincing when it moaned a warning. He would have to cut the child free quickly, or else fall. Grabbing his belt dagger, he cautiously knelt and began sawing at the rope that held the swinging corpse. It gave unexpectedly with a slight twang, and he fumbled blindly for the end. A meaty thud told him he'd failed. He leapt off the beam before it had a chance to break, landing heavily beside the crumpled body. His hands felt strangely wet and sticky - he'd landed in the puddle of blood. Again gagging, he wiped them on the inside of his cloak.

A voice was speaking softly, trying not to sob.

Mommy? Daddy? Why aren't you here? Where are you? I'm afraid.

With a start, Tan'erth realized the voice was coming from the child. He turned over the body, looked into the seething mass of its maggot-filled eyes. No doubt about it, the boy's soul was re-living its last few moments.

He gathered the corpse tenderly into his arms and began rocking back and forth, hands caressing the soft blond hair, vainly trying to warm the cold skin. He ignored the stiffness of the child's limbs, the stench wafting from his eyes, and held him close, openly sobbing, tears falling to wet the pale, sad features of the dead boy.

The fear, the pain this child felt had been pointless. Unnecessary. As he wept, alone but for the corpse and the sighing wind, his determination to kill Drainaith reached a climax. The bitch would die, and die slow. She deserved nothing less.

The piteous murmuring of the boy quieted. Tan'erth sighed and gently placed the body on the ground, wiping tears from both his eyes and the child's. He began the cleansing spell, softly speaking the words that would burn the corpse and free the soul. As with the girl beneath the slide, he placed a small red flower upon the ashes. This time, however, he gathered up as much of the fine powder as he could and placed it into a spare pouch.

These parents, at least, would know what had happened to their child.

The bright mood of the inn at first did little to cheer Tan'erth, although the promise of good drinking companions called to him. He hadn't gotten riotously drunk in a good long while, and the home-made brew would allow him to forget the horrors of the night very quickly indeed. Clutching the pathetically small bag of ashes, he made his way to where the innkeeper sat enjoying a mug of ale with some customers. The group of men laughed uproariously, adding to the clamor of the room.

"Good sir, I wish to speak with you. I know of your son." Gauntleted hands clenched around the pouch and the keeper choked on his drink, sputtering his disbelief.

"How could ye? The lad's been gone for nigh on six months. His sister as well . . . " His gaze went to the rough wooden tabled lined and spotted with the carvings of idle patrons.

"There was a girl as well?!" he asked nervously, beginning to panic. Had he missed a body somewhere? Had Drainaith killed again, only days after the boy? This was worrying beyond all belief - but he had to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Aye, they were twins. One allus following the other into some sort o' trouble." He sighed heavily. "But now they're gone, and their mother dead these past months out o' grief for her missing children. I'm all alone."

"I have your son," Tan'erth said quickly, swallowing hard. Hope and a slight mistrust filled the man's rough face. Tan'erth hated to shatter this man's last refuge, but he had to show the keeper the truth, shove it down his throat if necessary.

"Is my boy alive? Where is he?" the man asked eagerly, grasping at this chance.

He shifted his weight and wordlessly placed the pouch of ashes gently upon the table, then turned and stalked to the bar. Behind him he heard the startled gasp of the innkeeper as his son's ashes, still warm from the spell, sifted through his hands to fall lightly on the table. The man sat, staring at the pile of dust in shock.

Tan'erth wrapped himself deep in his cloak, gauntleted hands nervously playing with two small bronze coins until a buxom barmaid noticed, sauntered over, took the coins, and slammed a large pint of home-brewed mead in from of him.

He blinked, lifted the mug, and took a swallow. The alcohol had a pleasant taste to it and burned in the back of his throat most admirably. Yes, getting drunk this night was a brilliant idea.

Tan'erth downed the tankard and called for another, pleased to note that the stuff was working quickly. Halfway through his third, the rest of the cheery drunkards had started up a favorite song of his. Not one to pass up a chance to sing, he swallowed the dregs of his current pint, stood, and fell over on top of a passing barmaid, who, being used to such encounters, merely slapped away his questing hands, handed him another pint, and kept walking. He stumbled over to the table his fellow inebriated men were standing on and climbed up, joining them in belting out the chorus in a slurred, out of tune fashion.

"Tiddly tiddly, beer

'S all I dare hold dear

It gives me great pleasure

Goes far beyond measure

'S a brilliant thing, is beer.

I went to the bar one night,

Got ale 'fore starting a fight

I slugged Bob's nose

Broke all his toes

And all the world felt right!"

The song usually continued on in a similar vein, but as none of the singers could remember the rest, they repeated this verse while hopping drunkenly around the tables, Tan'erth quaffing yet another pint. The memory of the bloody child was now very far indeed. He gradually became aware that he was flying through the air, having been lifted bodily and thrown by the infuriated innkeeper, who was shouting. The idea of this was suddenly very amusing to him, and he giggled as he landed on a table and skidded across it, knocking drinks everywhere, and slammed into the wall, all the while managing to maintain a firm hold on his tankard.

"Ye filthy bastard! Ye killed my son!" the man roared while advancing, screaming through his tears of loss. "He's dead. And ye think to mock my sadness by giving me this trash!"

Here he threw the pouch of ashes at Tan'erth. The pouch split open on contact, and fine grey ash trickled through his armor onto his clothes. This infuriated him - the damn stuff took hours to clean and this bear of a man had just made it filthy. He had a vague idea that he should be angry about something else, but ignored it for the fury that was building, made all the more potent by the pints of ale he had downed. He launched himself bodily at the innkeeper, ferociously backhanding the man, anger giving some clarity to his speech.

"Dolt! I dinnae kill th' child - t'was Drainaith! Listen t' me!" He shook the heavier man by the shoulders, screaming into his face. "Yer son were hangin' from yer own damned sign, but ye were to damn blind t' see 'im! I cut 'im down and burned the body!"

The common room had fallen eerily silent at his accusations of Drainaith and he quickly realized that he'd gone too far. Drainaith's godlike status could not be challenged so far out in the country - every township worshiped Her and deeply mistrusted any who spoke out against Her wisdom.

A burly pair of hands lifted him from behind and deposited him in a chair, which he was then tied to.

These folk took great offense when Drainaith was spoken against, and this lesson was beaten into him by the drunkards he'd been happily singing with moments before.